New Resident at 221b
by WendyHamlet
Summary: John married and moved out of 221b leaving Sherlock to either move out as well or find a new flat mate. His problem is solved when Alexis Doyle shows up on his doorstep and promptly moves in. She's done her research frequenting both Sherlock and John's blogs and is fascinated with Sherlock's way of thinking Their friendship grows as they face crime and defeat inner demons together.
1. Chapter 1

**221B Baker Street.**

"Remind me again why you moved out." Sherlock said with a slight bitterness to his tone, idly plucking at his violin strings as his friend John Watson rummaged through the scattered items on the desk.

"I got married." Sherlock strummed the strings once as he replied.

"Ah yes, why did you do that again?" John let out a sigh and straightened up, turning to his friend's long form sprawled across his armchair.

"Look, I'm not going over this again with you. I'm just here to find my phone, and then I've got a lunch date with Mary." Sherlock let out a mournful sigh and looked over his violin bow, turning it slowly in his hand.

"Wives are such troublesome things. Your phone is in my coat pocket." He relented, pointing the bow towards his long coat draped on the armchair across from his.

John shook his head slightly as he walked over and retrieved his phone.

"You've got to stop filching my things Sherlock. And you really should be looking for a flat mate. I moved out six months ago, how are you paying the rent?" Sherlock stared at the ceiling as he ran his bow idly across the strings.

"I have more money than you think I do." John raised his eyebrows.

"You haven't had a case in weeks, where is the money coming from." Sherlock turned his head to face him.

"I have family money." He enjoyed seeing the slightly confused expression on the face of his friend. It reminded him of when they first began to know each other. John was almost always confused by him then. Not so much now though.

"If you've got family money, why on earth did you need a flat mate in the first place?" Sherlock turned to look at the ceiling again.

"Mrs. Hudson wouldn't rent me the flat if I didn't have someone to share it with, something about needing companion ship or some such nonsense." John glanced at his watch and let out a sigh.

"Look Sherlock, I've got to get going." The consulting detective's eyebrow twitched upward slightly.

"Wouldn't want to keep the wife waiting, go on, I've gotten on without you for a while now."

"Oh don't be such a child Sherlock, I'll see you later." Sherlock rolled his eyes in response and resumed plucking his violin strings. John paused in the doorway and said before leaving.

"And for goodness sakes, start looking for another flat mate, I don't like you being left alone all the time." With that he walked down the stairs and out.

Sherlock heard the door shut behind him, and said in a low voice.

"You shouldn't have left then."

A few hours later Mrs. Hudson came down to check on him, and found Sherlock in the same position that he had been in all day, sprawled across his armchair.

"Oh dear Sherlock, you really should move around a bit, it's not good for you to be lazing about all day like that. And look at the mess you've made, at least when John lived here there was some sort of order." Sherlock blew a lock of hair out of his face and retorted.

"Well John doesn't live here anymore and I'm afraid order seemed to have left with him." The elderly lady let out a sigh and shook her head.

"You really shouldn't be bitter about it. He's happy, and you should be happy for him. You should be thankful that he's forgiven you for being gone those three years. Come along and at least eat something." Sherlock glanced at the clock.

"What day is it?"

"Friday." Sherlock settled back in his chair.

"I'll be fine for another day or so." Mrs. Hudson crossed her arms and fixed Sherlock with her most scolding look.

"I've had quite enough of this sulking around. If you want to keep staying here you'd better find yourself a new flat mate, it's no good for you to be by yourself all the time." Sherlock sat up and turned to her.

"And what if I don't find a flat mate? You'll force me out?" She stared evenly back at him.

"I tolerate so much from you, the body parts in the fridge and microwave, the experiments and mess, the least you could do is find a bloody flat mate." With that she turned on her heal and stormed off to her flat, leaving Sherlock feeling thoroughly scolded.

Several days later, after a reminder from Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock reluctantly put an ad in the paper advertising his need for a flat mate.

It was a Friday afternoon. Sherlock was updating his blog with an article about how to identify shoe brands by their footprint, when the bell rang. His long fingers paused in their typing, and his sharp grey eyes flickered towards the door.

At the sound of the second ring, he jumped out of his chair and swept over to the door, waiting as he heard footsteps ascending the stairs.

"Hello dear," Mrs. Hudson's gentle voice greeted the visitor warmly. "I assume you're here about the flat? Just go ahead and talk to Sherlock about it, I'll make you some tea while you two talk." Sherlock retreated to his armchair as the footsteps approached the door.

Light footfalls, close together indicated a smaller person with shorter legs, the left foot fell slightly heavier than the right, which meant they were holding extra weight on that side, presumable a bag of some kind.

His deductions were interrupted as a knock sounded on the door. He picked up his violin and called towards the door.

"Come in." His eyes scanned the person who entered, noticing everything about them in a few seconds. He was inwardly rather surprised that it was a young woman, mid-twenties who confronted him.

"Sherlock Holmes," She said with a small smirk, tucking a stray strand of auburn hair behind her ear.

"I'm afraid I have you at a disadvantage, I know who you are, but you don't know me. So," She held her arms out slightly and raised her eyebrows as she smiled. "Tell me who I am."

He studied her for a minute and then stood up, towering a good eight inches above her.

"You're originally from America but have lived in England for the past seven years or so, long enough to start adopting the accent, which also means that you are an especially empathetic person and originally lived somewhere in America where the people don't possess a particularly strong accent.

That brace on your wrist can be acquired at almost any local drug store which means it wasn't prescribed to you by a doctor. That implies that your injury isn't serious enough to consult a physician. I would say an athletic injury, but despite your athletic build you don't play sports with means that you acquired the injury elsewhere I'm guessing carpal tunnel which is obtained from excessive typing.

You job doesn't involve typing, you're obviously a waitress who took the rest of the day off judging by the wrinkles and crease left by your apron, and the grease stains on your blouse, which means that you type a lot for a hobby, the most logical option? Writing.

I also know that you are here to inquire about the apartment, and you've read both mine and John Watson's blogs which means you know all about me and you are either here because you're a fan, or you want to see if it's really true. Is that enough?"

She nodded, and shifted the satchel strap on her shoulder.

"Perhaps I can clear up a few things. I have read both your and John's blogs, and although you intrigue me, I'm not some psycho fan. I have come to see about the flat, seeing as though I don't especially like the location that I'm at currently, and am looking for a change of scenery." She paused and with a small smile added.

"I also know that you haven't left this flat in five days, and haven't eaten in three, you haven't had a case in several weeks and that Mr. Watson dropped by to see you today." Sherlock, for one of the few times in his life, was taken aback. He stared at her with budding curiosity.

"Correct…" She waved a hand and said dismissively.

"Read the blog, stored deductive and observational information. You're not the only one who can do what you do. Although you'll always be the best."

Just then Mrs. Hudson appeared with tea, she smiled and set it down on the coffee table.

"I've made you some tea and biscuits, just this once though, I'm not your housekeeper." The girl grinned when she said this and replied.

"Understood, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Then she turned back to Sherlock and offered her hand.

"By the way, my name's Alexis Doyle." Sherlock eyed her hand a moment before shaking it.

"Well Alexis Doyle, shall we discuss the rent?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey everyone! Here is chapter two!**

**I hope you all are enjoying this, and if not, well I'm enjoying writing it so... at least someone's happy :D**

**If you do like it so far, I would really love to hear what you think, so just drop a review and let me know if I messed up anywhere, if you spot an inconsistency or break of character somewhere I would really appreciate it if you pointed it out. I noticed last chapter at one point I had Sherlock say "Apartment" (oops!) American-writer-writing-a-story-set-in-England-pro blems :P**

**Anyway! Let me know and I would appreciate it :)**

* * *

**Moving In.  
**

"My bedroom will be Dr. Watson's old one, upstairs right?" Alexis inquired, pointing towards the stairs that lead to the second bedroom.

Sherlock hesitated briefly, and then quickly turned and began shifting papers on the coffee table.

"Yes, yes, upstairs. I trust you'll find everything in order." She nodded.

"Yes I'm sure I will. Help me with my bags?" He straightened and turned around, but she wasn't there, having already descended the stairs and was busy retrieving a bag from the cab parked outside.

After talking with her for a while, Sherlock had decided that she would be as good a flat mate as any. She did know all his habits and peculiarities already, and assured him she wouldn't be bothered in the least by his sometimes odd behavior.

He couldn't help feeling slightly curious as she warned him that she had some rather odd habits as well, and she expected he would be surprised by her behavior sometimes.

"I _said_ help me with my bags, that wasn't exactly a request." Her voice called from the stairs, and a moment later she appeared in the doorway, dragging a large suitcase behind her.

"Why did you pose it as a question then?" She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"Because I was trying to be polite, a gentleman should help a lady with her bags, but seeing as there's none of them around here, I suppose you'll have to do. Go on, I've got several boxes in the cab still." She didn't stay to observe Sherlock's look of surprise at her cheeky remark, instead dragging the large suitcase up the stairs.

With just the hint of a smile playing about his lips, Sherlock went to retrieve one of the boxes she had mentioned.

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in John's old bedroom, watching Alexis putter about here and there, rambling on about where she was going to put this, and what would look good there.

"You're not listening are you?" He looked up and raised an eyebrow.

"Was I supposed to be listening?" She shook her head, and nudged a box with her foot, pushing it up against the wall.

"Not really. That's the great thing about you, I can just talk and talk and you will just tune out and deduce something." He frowned slightly.

"Is that what people think of me? That I "deduce things" all the time?" Alexis plopped onto the bed and shrugged.

"Well, what _do_ you think about when you're not on a case?" She watched him curiously as he shifted from one foot to the other, sliding his hands into his pockets as he cleared his throat. For a minute, she thought he was going to say something, but then he straightened up and said quickly.

"If that's all the boxes you need moving I'll leave you to unpack." He spun on his heel and descended the stairs. Alexis let out a sigh, wondering if she would ever get him to open up.

O—

Sherlock sat in his armchair, toying with his phone as he stared into the fireplace.

Should he text John and tell him he found a flat mate? Or should he let him worry about him for a little while longer…decisions, decisions. A small, nagging, annoying part of him said that this was spiteful and John would be disappointed with him.

He finally sent a brief text. Knowing that John would probably want details, he didn't send any, therefore fulfilling both of his impulses.

**New resident at 221b. SH**

He smirked slightly and slid the phone in his pocket as he heard footsteps coming downstairs. Speak of the devil there was his new flat mate now.

"Miss Doyle, check the substance in the bowl sitting on the counter and tell me what color and consistency it is." He heard her footsteps pause, and then move to the kitchen.

"Just Alexis is fine, unless you want me to start calling you Mr. Holmes all the time. That'd make you sound like your brother."

"The color and consistency miss Do- …Alexis."

"It is mucus green and the consistency of pudding. I stuck my finger in it, I hope that's okay." Sherlock bounded out of the chair and walked into the kitchen, clasping his hands behind his back as he stood beside her.

"Did you really? Oh yes, you did. Lovely, no one usually does that, it's always "what's in the bloody bowl this time Sherlock?" although, you may want to go and wash your hands." She moved to the sink and began rinsing her hands.

"An experiment of some kind I assume?" He cast a sideways glance at her as he surveyed the bowl.

"Yes, you really have done your research, haven't you?" She shrugged and leaned against the counter as she dried her hands.

"I'm very thorough. I've read your blog and frankly, you fascinate me. I'm intrigued by your way of thinking." He narrowed his eyes slightly.

"My…way, of thinking?" She nodded.

"The art of deduction, it's not every day you get to live with a high functioning sociopath. And I seem to have a knack for attracting odd characters." He straightened up.

"Ah, but you came to me." She took a step forward and pointed at him, a smile growing on her face.

"But you," here she poked him in the shoulder, "decided to let me stay. Now, do you actually have anything to eat in here? Or is the fridge just full of experiments?"

He glanced at the fridge and then turned his gaze back on her.

"I don't know if there's anything edible in the flat, instead of asking me, you could just as well look."

"Hey, watch the tone." She said warningly, then looking him over, she frowned. "When was the last time you ate?"

Sherlock's gaze left hers quickly, and he stared over her shoulder, his eyes distant and cold as he stated.

"That isn't really your concern." Without a word, she turned on her heel, and ran upstairs. He watched her leave, and wondered if he had offended her in some way. He'd never been able to tell if he'd hurt someone's feelings until John had moved in. Since then he had gotten better at measuring people's emotions and reactions to him.

A moment later Alexis reappeared, her bag on one shoulder, and a white trench coat draped across her arm. She walked past him into the main room, snatched his scarf and coat, and tossed them at him.

"Put those on, we're going out." He scowled at her.

"You're not my mother." She pulled her trench on, and then walked up to him, draping the scarf around his neck and tossing his coat on his shoulders, then she grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the door.

"You're right, I'm not your mother, but you better darn well accept the fact that when I tell you to do something, it's best for everyone if you just do it." He could have easily overpowered her, but he found her attitude amusing, and although he'd hate to admit it, she was right, it was about time he ate something.

He pulled his arm free and put his coat and scarf on properly, sticking his hands in his pockets as she held the door open and waited for him.

"I hope you realize that I'm going merely to humor you." She rolled her eyes and pulled on a pair of gloves.

"Yeah, yeah whatever, come on then." They chose a small café down the street. Sherlock chose a table in the corner by the window. Alexis sat across from him and skimmed the menu.

"What shouldn't I get?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly at her question. She wiggled the menu under his nose. "Is there anything that I shouldn't get on the menu? Did you notice anything when we came in?" He glanced around the café briefly.

"I wouldn't order anything with lettuce." She smiled and nodded.

"Alright then." She slapped the menu down on the table and gave him a mock glare. "You're not leaving this café until you've eaten something. It's bad to go days without eating you know." He tapped the side of his head.

"This is what's important to me, everything else is merely transportation." Alexis waved a hand dismissively.

"Whatever, but if you want your brain to perform to its best ability, you should stay healthy. What good would a pristine engine be if the frame it was set in was eaten away with rust?" The smallest of smiles turned the corners of his mouth, and Alexis counted this a huge accomplishment.

"I suppose you do have a point." She nodded triumphantly.

"I do. So you'd better order something." He picked up the menu and made a big show of looking it over.

Their waiter came up and smiled at Sherlock.

"Well if it isn't Sherlock Holmes, I haven't seen you in here for a while." Sherlock glanced at Alexis before replying.

"Yes well, I had some persuasion." The waiter turned to Alexis and smiled brightly.

"Ah yes, I can see that. And who is your lovely date?" Alexis choked on the water she had just sipped, and began coughing, as well as laughing, into her napkin.

"She's not my date." Sherlock said, with a hint of irritation in his voice. The waiter shot him a wink and nodded knowingly.

"Right then, what can I get you and your, not date?" They placed their orders and he disappeared. Alexis began giggling again, and Sherlock looked at her.

"I fail to see what it is you find so funny?" She got her mirth under control and took a deep breath.

"Oh, just him thinking I was your date, that's all." Sherlock looked towards the kitchen where the waiter had disappeared.

"Ah yes, I don't understand people. I have dinner with John, and everyone assumes we're on a date, now I'm having lunch with you, and people assume the same. Don't people just have lunch with their friends anymore?" Alexis looked surprised.

"Friends?" Sherlock glanced at her.

"Or flat mates. I was talking about John and I." Alexis nodded.

"Of course, I would hardly classify us as friends, we barely know each other." Sherlock avoided her eyes, straightening the silverware on the table.

"Yes well, I don't have friends, just John." Alexis shook her head.

"No, you're wrong. When Moriarty forced you to fake your death, he threatened John, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson, now I'm not great at math but that makes at least three friends. Not counting Molly, who is most assuredly your friend, even if you don't realize it. So you have at _least_ four friends, and I've always wondered what your definition of a friend is." He sat in silence for a long moment, staring at her.

"I've never met anyone quite like you Alexis Doyle." He finally stated. She shrugged.

"Well I think I can safely say that there is no one quite like you…except for Mycroft." Sherlock wrinkled his nose and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, which caused Alexis to laugh, and earned another small smile from Sherlock.

"I think I'm going to like having you as a flat mate." He nodded.

"So do I."


	3. Chapter 3

**Caring.  
**

"Sherlock!" Alexis' voice carried surprisingly well throughout the flat when she had a mind to be heard. And she knew that he could hear her, but he was pretending he hadn't just to annoy her.

"Sheeeeerloooooock!" She grinned in triumph when she heard a frustrated exhale and then his voice was calling back irritably.

"What? I'm very busy!"

"That's a load of rubbish! You're sitting down there doing nothing!" She shouted back, rummaging around the scattered items on her dresser as she continued. "I need you to help me find something!"

"What?!" His sudden shout caused her to flinch slightly, but she couldn't help smiling when he began to rant.

"I am a consulting detective! The only one in the world I might add! I am not a blood hound at your disposal to sniff out lost items when convenient for you! I mean really! You'd think I would get just a little more respect around here. It's not like I've solved innumerable crimes and help keep this city safe. 'Oh we know that Sherlock, but while you're not busy, do you mind helping look for a misplaced item, since you obviously have nothing better to do than to wait at my beck and call!'"

There was a long pause before Alexis' replied.

"Well you _don't_ have anything better to do, so you might as well." Another long pause, then she heard him stand up and move towards the stairs, his steps purposefully harder than usual.

"I'm only helping you because I'm bored." She shrugged.

"Works for me. I lost my-"

"Your memory card, yes I know." She closed her mouth abruptly, and motioned around the room.

"Well then, where is it?" He let his gaze wander around the room for a moment, before resting his eyes on Alexis. Pulling the memory card out of his pocket and holding it up without looking away.

"In my pocket. I borrowed it." Alexis narrowed her eyes and snatched the small object away.

"You can't just take my stuff Sherlock! It's private business." Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Oh please, it was just full of word files. So I was right about you being a writer." She walked over to her bed, and slipped the memory card into her computer bag.

"Of course you were right. Have you eaten anything today?" He sighed exasperated.

"What is it with you and my eating habits? I eat when I need to."

"Well I've told you, that isn't healthy. Go eat something."

He glared at her and crossed his arms, his mouth forming a thin line as he pursed his lips.

"You are not my mother." Alexis mimicked his pose, crossing her arms and glaring back.

"No, I'm your friend, and I'm telling you to go eat something." They had a stare down for a long moment, before Sherlock abruptly changed the subject.

"What happened to your father?" Alexis was taken aback, she shifted slightly and shook her head, confusion furrowing her brow.

"Nothing." Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"Arthur isn't your father?" Realization flickered across her face before she narrowed her eyes.

"My father's name is Charles. And I told you not to look at my files." He shrugged and stuck his hands in his pockets.

"So Arthur was your boyfriend?" He was taken completely by surprise at her reaction. He watched as several different emotions flickered across her face, and then she was pushing him towards the door.

"Get out and go eat something, and I swear if you ever snoop into my personal files again I will kill you!" She stood in the doorway with her hand on the knob, her eyes burning daggers at him as she finished.

"And your murder will go unsolved because the great Sherlock Holmes won't be there to figure it out!" With that, she slammed the door in his face.

He stood in the hall for a minute, frowning slightly as he tried to comprehend what had made her so angry. Deciding that it was one of her odd mood swings, he went back downstairs.

O-

She didn't come down until that evening, ignoring his violin playing as she walked straight into the kitchen and searched the fridge for something to eat.

Pulling out several slices of pizza, she removed the unidentifiable substance from the microwave and stuck the pizza in. After punching a few buttons, she walked into the parlor and plopped down into his chair, knowing it would peeve him.

"I assume you noticed the two missing slices from the fridge?" He asked, writing down some notes on his music sheet. He glanced over and saw her nod, and turned back to his violin.

"I'm glad you ate." He shrugged in response, and played a measure or two on his violin.

Alexis retrieved her pizza from the microwave and returned to the parlor, sitting in her own chair this time. She listened to him play while she ate, watching the concentration on his face as he composed.

"What do your songs mean?" He looked up, eyebrows raised questioningly. She straightened up and pointed towards his violin.

"You play when you think, but all of your music sounds so different. I was wondering what you think about while playing the different songs."

He shifted from one foot to the other and furrowed his brow slightly.

"I, um…" He met eye contact with her, and she felt surprised as she saw the vulnerability and uncertainty in his eyes. "Well, no one's ever asked me that before."

She stood up and walked over to him.

"Really? You play so beautifully, and no one's ever asked you what about?" He shook his head. "Well, I'm asking now. What does this song your composing now make you think about?"

He looked slightly amused, and just the tiniest bit excited as he pointed to his notes with the violin bow.

"Well, this particular song reminds me of when John and I would have disagreements, or when Mrs. Hudson was frustrated at us for some reason or other."

Alexis looked over the notes and laughed.

"It's a rather cheerful tune with a hint of suspense, that's how you feel when people are irritated with you?" He turned to her surprised.

"You read music?" She nodded, then realization dawned and she smacked his arm.

"Did you start playing this because I was mad at you?" He placed the violin on his shoulder and set the bow across the strings.

"Possibly." He began playing again, and Alexis shook her head, walking towards the stairs. He watched her go, calling after her once she reached the doorway.

"Where are you going?" She pointed up.

"To bed, I have some work to do before I turn in for the night."

"Oh well, goodnight then." She waved and went upstairs.

He continued to compose, pausing when he realized it had been almost two hours since Alexis had gone upstairs. He surprised himself by setting his violin down, not wanting to wake or keep her from sleeping.

Sitting in his chair, he stared into the fireplace and pressed his fingertips together, thinking of the past years.

Being friends with John had changed him, there was no denying that. John had helped him be more sensitive to people's feelings, reawakened the emotion he had spent years suppressing.

Sometimes he wondered if it was better to be unattached and cold, not caring what people thought or felt. But then he would get that small nagging feeling that scolded him and told him it was far better to care about people.

Where would he be if he didn't care about Mrs. Hudson, John, Lestrade and even Molly? They were important to him, he cared for them and wanted to protect them. He faked his death for three years to keep them safe.

Secretly, he knew that if it came down to it, he would have really killed himself to keep them safe.

Now Alexis had wormed her way into his life, and despite her sometimes irritating him, he found himself starting to care for her.

"I wonder if my childhood would have been better if I had had a sister." He mused with a small smile, imagining a younger sister and himself annoying Mycroft to no end. Oh how much fun that would have been.

He let out a sigh and cleared memories from his head, storing them carefully away where he knew he could easily find them again, and went to bed.

O—

Alexis woke up in the middle of the night. Lying in her bed for a few minutes, she tried to convince herself that she really wasn't _that_ thirsty and it would be fine if she fell back asleep. But alas, her throat only became more parched the more she tried to convince herself to ignore it.

She finally gave in with a frustrated sigh, and threw the comforter off her legs, swinging them to the floor, she crept downstairs, unsure if Sherlock would be awake or not.

Halfway through drinking a tall glass of ice water, she heard something. Pausing, she listened.

After hearing it again, she set her glass down on the counter, and followed the sound to Sherlock's bedroom. She hesitated at the door, quietly debating whether she should open the door or not.

Curiosity won out in the end, and she eased the door open, wincing as it squeaked. Slipping inside, she let her eyes adjust to the dark interior.

Sherlock was having a nightmare she realized with heaviness in her chest. He was tossing and turning, muttering under his breath.

As she drew closer, she was able to make out some words and figured out what the nightmare was about.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, she gently picked up his hand and brushed a few tousled curls off his forehead, murmuring soothingly.

"They're safe, they're all safe. They've forgiven you for being gone all those years. You are not alone." Her eyes filled with tears and her voice choked up slightly as she reassured him.

He was having a nightmare about the fall, when he faked his death. He was worrying about the people he cared about most. That they were still in danger, that they were still hurting, and worst of all, that they hadn't forgiven him. He was dreaming that he was alone.

Alexis took a deep breath and held his hand firmly in both of hers, sitting by his side until his breathing returned to normal and he fell back into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Case.**

Sherlock woke much earlier than usual. Briefly wondering why, he stretched and then sat up.

He froze when his eyes landed on the small form curled up on the edge of his bed. Alexis had her legs twisted up in the blanket, and her hair splayed across the pillow her head was resting on.

Sherlock frowned. He had absolutely no idea what to do. His brain was too busy trying to figure out exactly why she was in his bed to even begin to deduce what he should do about it.

Finally, he settled on poking her shoulder gingerly. No effect. He poked her again, this time slightly harder. Still no effect.

He quietly seethed. What was he supposed to do? He didn't understand people! There was no logical course of action, no book that could tell him what to do in this scenario.

"Alexis?" He tested, giving her shoulder another poke. How was it possible for someone to sleep so soundly?

"Alexis. Wake up." He prodded her hard. She overbalanced and fell off the bed with a surprised cry.

"Oh good, you're awake."

She sat up, her hair sticking up every which way, her sleep filled eyes glaring at him. "What the hell was that for?"

He frowned, replying indignantly. "You wouldn't wake up. Why the hell were you in my bed?"

Alexis seemed to realize where she was, and she suddenly dropped her eyes, scrambling to her feet and clearing her throat nervously. "I, uh…" She straightened up and looked him straight in the eye. "I have to get dressed." Without waiting for an answer, she fled the room.

Sherlock stared after her for a moment, and then climbed out of bed and dressed quickly.

Walking into the kitchen, he searched the fridge and cupboards for something to eat, pausing for a moment as he heard tentative footsteps enter the main room.

"Thought about your explanation yet?" He called, his back still turned toward her.

"I got up to get some water, and you were having a nightmare."

He shut the cupboard and turned around, brow furrowed slightly. "That's the best you could come up with?"

She looked indignant. "I'm not making this up."

Before he could reply, his mobile began to ring. His eyes lit up, and he lunged for it, composing himself quickly as he held the phone to his ear. "Holmes…I'll be right over." He hung up and then smiled broadly.

"You've got a case haven't you?" Alexis asked, thinking that the only thing able to get him so happy was a good murder. He hadn't had a case since she'd moved in, at least not a murder.

"I do indeed Miss Doyle, and from the increased bafflement in Lestrade's tone, it's going to be an interesting one." His face fell slightly.

"This will be your first big case without John…won't it?"

He nodded, but then straightened up and grabbed his coat. "No matter, I got along fine before him."

Alexis watched him shrug on his coat, tie his scarf, grab his gloves and then sweep out of the room.

She let out a sigh and moved towards the kitchen in search of breakfast. Pulling open the fridge door, she stared blankly at the organ filled jars lining the top shelf, her appetite suddenly gone.

"You've read my blog?"

She closed the fridge door quickly and whirled towards the door. "Yes."

He looked her over for a moment. "Would you maybe be interested in…coming down to the crime scene with me?" He shrugged. "Maybe you could be of some use in my investigation."

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled. "Really? I can come with you?" Her elation deflated and she slouched slightly. "They won't let me in…"

"Nonsense, Lestrade won't argue with me, he knows it's pointless. Grab your coat."

Alexis ran upstairs and collected her silver trench, black gloves and dark red scarf. Sherlock met her at the top of the stairs and together they exited the flat and hailed a cab.

"So did Lestrade tell you anything about the case?" Alexis asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her tone.

"He mentioned poison, and a message written in blood." He tried to sound slightly bored and disinterested, but he too was excited. This was his first real case in months. He just hoped it lived up to his expectations of being worth his time.

As the cab pulled up to the police boundary, Sherlock turned to Alexis and said quickly. "As far as anyone's concerned, you are my assistant." With that he hopped out of the cab, paid the driver and walked towards the police tape.

Alexis followed him quickly, and was surprised that he waited at the line, and held the tape up for her.

"Thanks."

He didn't reply, walking past the scattered law enforcement officers and into the apartment building, ascending the stairs to the crime scene, flat number 19. Moving towards the tall, greying man standing beside the body, he motioned for Alexis to follow.

Alexis inwardly screamed, she was at a murder scene, with Sherlock Holmes, about to meet Detective Chief Inspector Greg Lestrade.

"Inspector." Holmes said, glancing at the body.

"Sherlock." Lestrade glanced back at Alexis. "Who's your friend?"

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, "Oh," he exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering Alexis was there. "This is my new flat mate, Alexis Doyle, she's come to assist me."

Lestrade raised a critical eyebrow. "Assist you? What, she's John's replacement?"

Sherlock stiffened slightly, and his eyes turned cold. "No one is being replaced. Alexis is an amateur sleuth, she's better than anyone I know at following my methods. I thought she might be helpful in the case."

Lestrade hesitated, then let out a sigh and offered Alexis his hand. "Well, all I know is that after Sherlock dragged John to their first case, we had an increase rate in solved crimes. Pleasure to meet you Miss Doyle."

"Please, call me Alexis, or Lexie if you want. I can't believe I'm actually meeting you."

He gave her a slightly amused look and a small smile. "Read up on the blog then?"

She nodded. "Oh yes," then, leaning forward, she whispered confidentially. "And although he would never admit it, Sherlock couldn't do what he does without you."

Lestrade smiled and turned to Sherlock who was examining the body. "I like her."

Sherlock didn't look up from the dead man's body as he replied distractedly. "Yes, people seem to have that reaction to her. What's the victim's name?"

"Bert Roberts, thirty-five years old, single, works as a teller at bank of London."

"Yes I gathered that." He frowned and began to mumble to himself. "Bit odd to find the body tied to a chair, the rope can be purchased at any number of local stores, the brand is common, which will make it nearly impossible to track down the buyer." He looked up. "Cause of death? I assume it was something injected into the blood stream judging by the puncture mark on his neck."

Lestrade nodded. "We found a syringe next to the body, negative for prints. Anderson's running tests now."

Sherlock scoffed. "No need, they used potassium cyanide."

"What like what they use in lethal injections?"

Lestrade looked at Alexis with a mixture of confusion and wariness. "How do you know that?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "Don't mind her, she's a writer. I have no doubt she knows innumerable facts involving subjects far more disturbing than lethal injection."

Alexis and Lestrade regarded each other for a minute, and she just shrugged. Lestrade blinked and then turned to Sherlock.

"So someone murdered him humanely?"

Alexis crouched beside the body and gingerly opened his mouth. "Not at all, without the first two injections of Sodium thiopental and Pancuronium, he would have died very painfully, looks like he choked on his own blood."

"So the killer didn't know about the first two injections?" Sherlock and Alexis answered in unison.

"No."

Alexis glanced at Sherlock, and motioned for him to continue.

"If the killer was trying to commit the murder humanly, he wouldn't have kept the victim tied to the chair for hours before killing him. Abrasions on his wrists suggest a great deal of struggling, and those knots were tied very snuggly. No, the killer knew exactly what effect the Potassium Cyanide would have on the unfortunate Mr. Roberts." He glanced at Alexis with a small smile as she finished his deduction.

"This was a revenge killing."

Lestrade frowned. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Alexis explained, moving slightly closer to the body. "As Sherlock pointed out, he was tied to the chair for hours before he was killed. Why else would you keep your victim alive for so long?"

"He's a Psycho, who knows what he was thinking. Maybe he just wanted to toy with his victim beforehand."

Sherlock walked over behind the victim, and pointed to a message scrawled on the wall in blood. "Then why would he write this?"

Alexis' eyes widened, and she walked over to get a closer look at the bloody words.

_Máu ph__ả__i tr__ả__ b__ằ__ng máu_

"It's in Vietnamese." Sherlock stated.

"Blood must be paid with blood." Alexis translated, studying the wall intently. She looked up, and glanced from Lestrade's shocked face to Sherlock's amused and slightly impressed one. "What? I needed extra credit in college, so I took some language courses."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and pointed at Alexis. "She speaks Vietnamese." He stated it as if he was trying to believe it, instead of informing Sherlock of what he already knew.

"I told you she would be useful." Sherlock said with a smug expression.

Alexis rolled her eyes and motioned back to the wall. "Can we get back to the murder please? How did the killer write this on the wall?"

Lestrade gestured over his shoulder, "A paintbrush belonging to the victim, negative for fingerprints."

Sherlock scoffed. "Of course it is. This killer is smart. You won't find any physical evidence here."

Alexis walked over and examined the body again. "Where did the blood come from?"

Sherlock and Lestrade both joined Alexis at the body.

"From the victim's mouth?" Lestrade suggested.

"He would have left some behind, there's no way the body would be this clean if he had gotten it from his mouth. Besides, there wouldn't be enough anyway."

Alexis and Sherlock looked at each other at the same time, both coming to the same revelation.

Sherlock's eyes lit up, and a small smile curved his lips as he said. "Which can only mean…"

They were interrupted by a police officer walking into the room. "Inspector?"

Lestrade turned to him, and Alexis straightened up quickly, finishing Sherlock's sentence. "There's another victim."

* * *

**Hello readers!  
**

**Sorry it took so long to post another chapter, I have a lot on my writing plate (which is completely my own fault) but I've updated now! And the story is going really going to get going now :)**

**I'm actually not sure where I want to end this so we'll see how long this story goes for.**

**I do have plans for things to happen throughout the story, but some need setting up so...I've got to work on that. **

**Review if you are liking it so far! I am always super excited and eager to see what you all think, so let me know! **

**Later Hamiltons**


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